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“My friends and I are getting together soon, and I want you to meet them. I mean, I met your parents. My friends are the closest thing I have to family, so what do you say?”
He freezes. Like actually turns to stone. When he conquers some peak no one has ever climbed yet and they make a statue of him, this is what he will look like. Kind of dirty and tired and frozen in time.
But not happy,I realize. Well, maybe he’s too exhausted to be happy.
“I have two possible dates that we picked.”
“Mira.” He starts towards me, but shakes his head. “We shouldn’t talk about this now. I mean, you’re working.”
“I…”
I have no idea what I was going to say, but it doesn’t matter. He’s gone. I go back to my desk and spend the remainder of my shift glaring at the clock.
When I can go – finally, that final hour took about ten years, at least – I march right to his room. I take a deep breath and rap firmly on his door.
“Yes?”
His deep voice makes my insides turn to jelly. I feel the tension of the last hour melting away. He was just tired. And he was trying to be considerate. He’s right, I shouldn’t be making out with hotel guests in the lobby, even if we are…
“Housekeeping.” I deliberately disguise my voice. “I brought you more towels.”
I didn’t, but I can deliver so much more than towels.
“I… hold on.”
I listen carefully and think I hear some rustling. He pulls the door open.
“Mira.”
“I’m off work.”
I step towards him. He steps back, and I’m in the room. He looks so good. His hair is wet. He needs to brush it. But I kind of like him disheveled.
“When I said we could talk later –”
“It’s later. My shift is over.”
“Yeah, about meeting your friends.”
“Oh, that.”
Right. I kind of forgot about that when he opened the door.
“Well, there are two tentative dates, and if you wanted to check and see which was better. You could bring a friend.” He’s shaking his head. “What? You don’t even know the dates.”
“Most of my friends are training. They aren’t even around here.”
“Well, okay. But you can come meet my friends. That would be fine.”
I reach out and grab his hand. It’s like holding a limp fish. He doesn’t pull away, but it’s clear he wishes I wouldn’t touch him. I step closer to him and he backs away. When I let go of the door, it closes with a soft but definitive thud.
“What’s going on?’
“Nothing.”
“Nothing? I think we should talk about this.”
“There’s nothing to talk about. Everything’s fine.”
